


Anchor

by AdelineVW7



Category: Naruto
Genre: #SSSnippetADay (Naruto), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by various references, SasuSaku - Freeform, Standalone drabbles, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25464607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineVW7/pseuds/AdelineVW7
Summary: It is in the other's arms that they find home.[A series of standalone ficlets on this theme. Originally published on Twitter.]Latest piece: "hand in hand." —  He has known it for a while—but it was knowledge without words, something that had taken root in his heart and flowered speechlessly through his veins.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Comments: 24
Kudos: 79





	1. worship

She is frozen in place, her eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror. She feels as if the woman staring back is mocking her. For the dark circles under her eyes. For the dullness of her skin. For her scars, and the weight she has gained in the last couple months. 

Here begins self-pity and self-dislike. _I look exactly as tired as I feel._ Her head fills up with harsh noise, with crackling static. _Please. Please make it stop._

She is so lost in her thoughts that it surprises her when her husband appears by her side. Suddenly there is his lone arm around her waist, and his breath warm against her nape.

"Sakura," he calls out, as if willing her to come back from the depths of her despondency. "Sakura, please."

She meets his eyes in the mirror, and her breath is stolen away by the passion in his gaze. 

"I love you," he whispers, against the shell of her ear. The admission makes her shiver; he does not often tell her this out loud. Slowly, and with his eyes never leaving hers, he unfastens her robe, and sets her skin ablaze with caresses. His touch is reverent, feather-light. The fervor in his ministrations makes her want to weep.

He turns her around to face him, and wipes away the tears from her eyes. He captures her lips with his own, and then descends, trailing kisses down her throat, her chest, and down, _down_ — until at last he is kneeling in front of her. He looks up at her — as if saying _you are the goddess of my idolatry_ _—_ before he kisses every single silver scar that marks her abdomen. "I love you—all of you. Do not forget it," he repeats. 

His voice is firm and resolute as he tells her, “You are so strong, and so beautiful. Chin up, my love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One line borrowed from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2: "Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, / Which is the god of my idolatry, / And I’ll believe thee."


	2. anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would go on holding her, for however long it takes. 

The house is silent. He enters their room and finds her there, curled up on the bed with her back to the door. Upon hearing her come in, she heaves one last ragged sigh and draws closer into herself. 

_Ah, it is one of those nights, then._ His heart twinges in sympathy. Sometimes Sakura has nights when her weariness is mute and would not find release, not even in tears. 

He crosses the room in one stride and gathers her up into his arms. “I’m here,” he whispers against her hair. He pulls her to him—closer, tighter—knowing she has been drifting alone and unmoored in a sea of suffering. “I’m here, I’m here,” he repeats, hoping that with his words he can pull her back to shore. 

He would hold her until morning comes and blesses them with its calm. He would go on holding her, for however long it takes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Virginia Woolf and her marine/nautical imagery


	3. peace

They have stopped for the night, and were sitting side by side looking at the stars over Suna. Tonight, it is Sasuke who first speaks.   
  
Quietly, he wonders, "Would you ever forgive me?"   
  
She leans closer, for warmth. "For what, my love?"   
  
He bows his head. "I could never give you peace. By choosing to be with me, you have also chosen to share in a life of struggle." _And that is not something you deserve_ , he continues, in his mind.   
  
"I have already accepted that, Sasuke.” She smiles, rueful. “Maybe likewise, I should ask your forgiveness.” 

“You?” He looks up at her, in confusion and surprise. “What is there to forgive?” 

“You and me both... we were not built for peace. It is one of my deepest regrets—that I cannot give you that.” She reaches a hand out in front of her, as if grasping for the stars. 

“We were flowers planted and nourished in the fields of battle. We were not born to it—peace,” she continues, after a moment. Her outstretched hand gently closes into a loose fist, and she lowers it to rest on the gentle swell of her stomach. She meets his eyes, and he is struck by the emotion he sees shining in their depths. 

“Sakura, I-" 

“Sasuke-kun,” she interrupts, firm. She does not let him speak his doubts, for fear that they would take on a life of their own. “Listen. Maybe peace is not something we can claim for ourselves. But here,” she takes his hand, and places it over her abdomen. “Here we are, right now. _This_ is our garden. Ours to cherish, and to love. _Here,_ will peace finally bloom.” 

“Would that be enough?” he ventures, unsure. Hopeful. 

“It will be,” she promises, and it rings with truth. “We will make it so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Peace" from her album Folklore


	4. hope

He had promised to see me tonight. But the clock has struck midnight, and there is no sign of him still. I am left staring at the open window, at the tree branches swayed by wind, knocking into the window frame. 

A multitude of reasons flit through my head. But the most insistent among them: perhaps he has forgotten. He has been busy. That he promised to see me has slipped his mind. 

Ah, but isn't this is an old memory—that of broken promises. Right now I cannot think of anything in particular—not one from the many promises that were owed me as a child, that were never fulfilled. But I keenly remember the heaviness, the sense of betrayal. I remember curling up in bed and crying, not unlike the way I am doing now. 

With him I have learned hope, it's true. But it seems for me, hope is a wound in the process of healing. It does not come free of the ache, of the hurt. 

These are the thoughts that keep me company, as I close my tired eyes and drift off into sleep. 

“Sakura.” 

A dream, and he is in it. I want so badly to respond but strangely, I could not. I feel as if I am underwater. _Help me,_ I want to tell him. _P_ _ull me back to shore._ _Save me._

“Sakura,” he calls again. 

A warmth blooms on my forehead, the familiar sensation of lips touching my skin. And then his hand, gentle, cupping around my cheek. 

I wake up. And my eyes meet his, which are shining with apology. 

“Sakura, I'm sorry.” 

Unbidden, my eyes fill with tears once again. He swipes them away, and wraps his arms around me. “I missed you,” I whisper, against his nape. 

“I know.” He runs his fingers through my hair, with utmost tenderness. “But no more. I am here, now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a modern AU, as I am sure you can infer from the fact that Sasuke has both his arms. :)


	5. here

Grandmother calls me to her, smiling, her whole face aglow from it. When I am within reach, she draws me closer, and touches her fingers to my forehead. Then she plants a tender kiss on the same spot. Our accustomed greeting. 

I return the gesture, and her answering gaze shines back at me with such love. Thus is its meaning renewed, and added to. Thus we continue weaving its long and loving history.

She bids me sit beside her on the deck. Together, we watch the golden afternoon sunshine as it casts its benediction on the things we've always known, the things we've always loved.

There are my grandfather's tomato plants, heavy with sun-ripened fruit. We are due for a harvest, soon. A few paces to one side are the flower beds, bursting with a profusion of colors and fragrances — my grandmother's project. 

Weaving around the garden plots, my brothers are chasing each other. It seems to be a game of tag, but they have devised their own rules for it. They are careful not to trample on our grandparents' beloved plants.

And across the yard — Grandfather. He is leaning on the fence and arguing with Lord Seventh. They have been at it for an hour, and are showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. 

Gran looks fondly on everything. Joy is written so plainly on that well-worn face — suddenly I wanted to know what was running through her head. I needed to know how to claim that happiness for myself.

"Gran, are you happy, like this?" I venture.

"Silly darling," she answers, easily. "How can I not be?"

We grow silent for a while, just admiring the view. And then she speaks again, because she is wise and she has probably guessed my intent. "All my life I wanted nothing more than this." 

All the while her eyes were on Grandfather, as if she wanted to go to him, and kiss him, and wrap  her arms around him. “Some dreams never quite change, child. Someday you’ll find that out for  yourself.”

After a while, she laughs softly, and gestures to the bickering pair across the lawn. “Go fetch your grandfather, child. Tell him to stop arguing with Naruto. Tell him, his wife demands a kiss from those sweet explaining lips.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Grace Paley's poem titled "Here."


	6. vision

They were on the outskirts of a small town near Wave, by Kakashi's bidding. A simple infiltration and information gathering mission, that called for his stealth and her diplomacy. 

"Why are you uneasy?" he wonders out loud, as he watches his traveling companion pace back and forth, kicking at the dried leaves in her wake. 

She was so lost in thought that she startles at his sudden question. "A-ah! Sasuke-kun, I'm so sorry." She shakes her head, as if to be rid of her reverie. "It's just that... I haven't really been on an actual field mission in so long. I'm a little worried." 

"You're strong," he hastens to reassure her. _Ah, but why was he never good at saying things_. He thinks that might have come off as flat, automatic, insincere. He shifts his gaze away from hers, as a slight blush paints itself on his face. He tries again, more softly this time. "You've always been. I have no doubt you can do it well." 

She walks closer, takes his hand, and holds it with both of hers. "Thank you." The smile in her voice bids him meet her eyes again, and he is stunned by the guileless affection that glowed there. 

She understood. _Why does that even surprise him._ Of course she understood. She did always understand, even when no one else could. 

"Shall we go?" she ventures, gesturing to the direction of the town. 

"Wait, Sakura," he calls. He pokes her in the middle of her forehead. "You have to hide that. And your hair, too." 

"O-oh! A good idea," she agrees. She swiftly weaves the hand signs for a _henge_ , masks her seal, and transforms the petal pink hair into inky black. She also darkens the green of her eyes, until it was the color of the deep forest. She grins at him, "Now we match." 

He could only stare at her for a long moment, the one thought in his mind being: _she_ _is beautiful, still._

She turns to lead him, and a vision seizes him. Perhaps a trick of the light. But on her back he could suddenly imagine his family's crest, looking as if it has always belonged there. And when she looks back at him with those changed eyes, he could _see_. There it was: a glimpse at the future he just now realizes he desires, with all of his heart. 

A wave of scenes rush through his vision: home, family—the two of them, together, dancing in the living room. The pitter-patter of tiny feet, as a little one races towards them. 

A voice, and then another, calling him, _love_. 

“Is something the matter, Sasuke-kun?” 

It was his turn to be surprised now. The spell dissipates, and he meets her questioning gaze. He smiles, and taps her forehead again. 

“It's nothing,” he lies. Inwardly he promises he will tell her, when the time is ripe for it. But for now, their mission. “Let's go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed these and would like to read more of my short pieces, you can follow me on Twitter @/AdelineVW7. I hang out there and occasionally post some works in progress. I also fangirl there, incessantly. Please join me! :)


	7. soulmate

It was the summer of the year she turned twenty two when she met Sasuke. She supposes it might be fate, or a lucky coincidence. _But does it really matter which it is,_ she muses. She inches closer to the boy next to her, buries her face in his chest. _Now he’s here with me. That’s all that matters._

Several months back, she had her fortune told in Quiapo, on a whim. The fortune-teller made several memorable claims. She said Sakura would be lucky when it comes to working overseas, but not when it comes to entering the food business. The crone also warned her against her being too much of spendthrift; she was counseled to wear a ring on the fourth finger of her right hand to ward it off. Sakura had laughed at that: _how oddly specific._

But the _ale_ also remarked that she must live quite the charmed life—always one to unwittingly put herself in danger, but never being truly harmed. 

She smiles at the memory—because wasn’t that how she met him? 

That day, she was being followed by a pervert after alighting from a jeep at Recto. The man seemed dogged in his pursuit, and she was getting desperate. She was no longer thinking straight. When she caught a glimpse of Sasuke—an immaculately dressed, clean-shaven gentleman just lounging outside 7-Eleven—she immediately latched onto his arm and begged him in a whisper, _Please, play along._

He had, but after that encounter, he demanded that she buy him a coffee to pay him back. And thus began their story. 

Now they were together. Like it was fate, or maybe a lucky coincidence. She fondly recalls another of the fortune-teller’s predictions; she’d said _you’ll meet your match at twenty-two._

_Well, manang. Maybe I have,_ she muses, as she savors the warmth of him beside her, this very moment. _Maybe I’ll come back and offer sampaguitas to the Nazarene, like you said._

He wakes to the warmth of her embrace and feels her lips curving into a smile against his bare chest. He huffs, amused. “Good morning, huh?” 

“You smug bastard, you.” She presses a kiss on his clavicle, and then on his jaw. There is unfettered merriment in her tone. “You have no idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "ale" and "manang" are terms we sometimes use to call older women  
> \- "sampaguita" is the national flower of the Philippines. 
> 
> This is an AU set in the Philippines. Quiapo is a place in Manila where Catholicism and folk religion coexist side by side; there are stalls that sell herbal remedies and charms right outside the church.
> 
> This piece was also written for the #sssnippetaday challenge on Twitter, and for the event #LinggoNgSasuSaku.


	8. yearning

“I miss you,” she whispers against his nape, as her arms remain wrapped tightly around him. The warmth of her breath and the feel of her lips raise goosebumps on his skin. He thinks she notices, because she laughs, softly. She tells him again, giddily, “I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” he reassures her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she answers. “And even if you were, you know now I’d come with you, wherever.”

“Ah,” he agrees and kisses the top of her head.

“But do you know what this means?” 

He humors her. “What does it mean?”

“To miss you, even when we’re here like this… I think it’s a testament to how much I feel for you.” She says this with utter conviction, and he is left with no room for doubt. “Quite simply, I love you, Sasuke-kun. And I will always, always yearn for you. With the entirety of my being.”

“It’s the same for me,” he tells her. And because he thinks he could not match the eloquence of her declaration, he simply uses his best argument—he bends his head down, and captures her lips with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a quote by Toni Morrison, from her book Sula: 
> 
> "It is sheer good fortune to miss somebody long before they leave you."


	9. north star

The light thump of a beer bottle landing on the table brings him back from the clutches of a daydream. He begins to feel, more keenly, how far he is from home. How much of a stranger he is in this strange land.   
  
He reaches for the beer to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth. As he takes the first gulp, he is assaulted by memory: the cobbled paths in Konoha, the trees swayed by the slightest breeze, spring sunshine and gentle rains. 

And then _her_. With her petal pink hair, her ready smile, her shining green gaze. The way it was always reflecting affection when it was upon him.

He could almost hear her voice again, how she told him when they parted, _what if I came with you?_

_I could not let myself be_ _indulged thus,_ he reasons, addressing the Sakura of his memory. _You have no part in my sins._

_But now..._   
  
A breeze blows, carrying the sweet fragrance of cherry blossoms. Something inside of him unravels. He stands up, fast enough to make him a little light-headed. He counts the money he owes the barkeep for his drink, and leaves it on the counter.   
  
_It's time to go back_ , he tells himself, already following the familiar paths in his mind. _It's time to go home_ _._

* * *

It has been two years since he saw her last. Now that she is within his sights again, he drinks her in, as a flower would spring sunshine. She smiles at him, and his heart is once again made whole.

"Sasuke-kun," she greets, her voice sweeter than birdsong, sweeter than any music he has ever heard in all of his journeying. 

"Ah." He offers her his hand, and she accepts.

Now they will begin.


	10. flame

They lay together, naked as the day they were born, warm and secure in the other’s embrace. He marvels at her sleeping face, traces its contours—first with his gaze, and then with the lightest of kisses. 

She stirs, and upon meeting his eyes, her lips stretch lazily into a smile. “Mmmhmm, Sasuke-kun.” 

He touches his lips to her forehead, and gently lays his hand atop her womb, tenderly caressing the bump there that was beginning to show. “Thank you,” he says, simply. There are no other words to be said, none that could carry the emotion blooming within his chest. 

Because there, within her arms, he has been unraveled and unmade, and reborn without all of his heaviness. He feels light, lighter than air. Almost unbearably light for existence. Gone are the grand ambitions of his youth, and the grief that so oppressed his childhood. Gone is his spite, his hatred, his jealousies. 

All that remains is _this_ : a core of light, a brilliant tongue of flame. And all the world that it knows is the space defined by the circle of her embrace. 

He is reduced to a thing that wants, and wants only her. She, with her tireless reaching, has finally caught up to him—to wrap him in this love, and stoke the embers of his heart to a blazing, and yet tender, warmth.

He is home, at long last. 


	11. light

Her hair is lightening into grey, and her skin has begun losing the rosiness of youth. Only her emerald gaze has not dulled in the least; every day it shines upon him still, bright with a love that no force in the world could possibly diminish.

“What are you staring at me for, Sasuke-kun?” she teases, smiling. “Sakura of the Spring,” she sing-songs, “has long faded.” She tucks a strand of dulled rose hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing to see here.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” she wonders. “What do you see?”

He does not immediately answer, choosing to close his eyes for a brief moment. He opens them to reveal the sharingan, activated. He holds her curious gaze for several heartbeats, and then smiles.

“Light,” he says, simply. He basks in the glow of her, in the profusion of colors that reveal themselves only to his tender perusal. “I see light.”


	12. dusk

They have been sitting on the balcony of their rented room, watching out for the sunset because she had asked this of him. Sadly, there isn't really one to see—at that moment day was passing into evening without ceremony, the setting sun having been obscured by a sudden shower. 

She has yet to break her contemplative silence, as she leans into him and holds his hand. He longs to have her speak—to have her ask him for anything, let him bear testament to the kindled flame within his breast. _Ask me to bid the sun to show_ _itself_ , he thinks, as he watches her watch the sky. _If_ _it's_ _for y_ _o_ _u,_ _I would find a way to do it._

“This is beautiful,” she says, finally. He looks at her with wonderment. The question is unspoken, but it is there in his eyes all the same. _What do you mean,_ they ask her. 

She gestures to the scene around them, at the grey expanse of sky and the softly falling rain. “This,” she answers, simply. “To be sitting here with you for this unremarkable sunset, and all the unremarkable sunsets to come.” She smiles, a far more glorious sight than that of any setting sun. “This is all I ever wished for, my love.”


	13. memory

He comes home and finds her slumped in the bathtub, fast asleep. _My wife, the doctor_ , he thinks fondly, exasperatedly. _She will make herself ill like this._ He notes the gooseflesh on her exposed skin, the way her nipples have been teased into hardness by the slight chill in the room. He laughs softly to himself and kneels in front of the bathtub, to begin the task of tucking her into bed. 

But without warning, his mind pulls up a scene from his distant, bloodstained past. As he gazes on the figure of his sleeping wife, another image is superimposed on her by his traitorous memory. In his mind's eye he sees his mother once again, lying on the floor of their old house, covered in her own blood. The vividness of the recollection nearly sends him into a frenzied panic—he is almost overwhelmed by the flood of emotion that followed. But he banishes them all, by reaching for Sakura's hand. 

Even in her sleep, she responds to him—because maybe even in the clutches of a dream she recognizes the way he holds her hand. Her fingers curl around his, and he smiles. He moves his pointer finger to rest lightly on her pulse, drawing comfort in its slow and steady rhythm. 

He takes her into his arms, and lifts her easily into their bedroom. He lays her on the bed and covers her with a blanket. She does not stir throughout all of this, but when he bends down and kisses her forehead, she wakes up. Though tired, her eyes light up in joy at the sight of him. "My darling," she calls, wrapping her arms around him. "Yes," he answers, voice soft, as he runs his fingers through her hair and kisses her nape. "I'm home, Sakura." 


	14. letter

There is blood on his lone hand. At the moment the sight is utterly strange to him—as if it were not his own hand he was looking at. He flexes his fingers, slowly, one by one, trying to claim that death-dealing hand once more. 

He has come to accept this: such was the life of shinobi. Sometimes he must lurk in the shadows; sometimes he must taint his hand with blood. The thought is almost followed by regret, but he banishes the idea before it could truly take hold in his mind. 

Because it is different now. He is a changed man. Gone are the days that his weapons are wielded in pursuit of revenge—to go down a path from which no one could return. Now he has a home to go back to, and people he would lay his life down to protect. His memory casts him back to the scene of their parting. He had left in the dimness of the early dawn, while both wife and daughter were still asleep. He had bent down and kissed them then, and quickly turned away, knowing that if he lingered longer it would be harder to leave them behind. 

It is the thought of his family that keeps him from despair, as he persists in this lonesome path. 

He shakes off the reverie, and summons the healing glow of medical jutsu to his broken hand. When it is once again whole and unblemished, he rifles through his travel pack, searching for quill, ink, and paper. Having found them, he muses, _now to mark this hand with love, instead. Now to reach out, with the assurance he would be welcomed. C_ _herished._

He begins to write: "Dear Sakura..." 


	15. harmony

"Come on, Mama.” There is a tinge of whining in her daughter's tone. “Sit, sit.” 

"Alright! I'm here, I'm here. Do be patient with me though. You know I'm not musical like you and your father.” 

"What are you even talking about?” Sarada briefly meets her gaze before turning to look at Sasuke. They share a meaningful glance, and then her husband actually _winks_. 

_Huh._

Sarada continues, “You helped me write this song, actually.” 

“Did I now?” 

“Sure did. Now sit back, and watch your daughter go.” Smiling, she makes quick work of unpacking and tuning her violin. When she finishes, she nods at her father, who takes his place at the piano. He begins to play. 

The progression seems vaguely familiar, but she cannot place it. Until Sarada comes in with the melody. Sakura draws a sharp inhale as she recognizes the motif on which her daughter has built her piece—it was the lullaby _she_ used to sing, when Sarada was still little. 

_She remembers._ Tears nearly spring into her eyes as she continues to listen to her daughter's playing. Sarada has transformed and developed her simple tune, weaving the sweet nighttime stories they shared into a tale far more beautiful, far more real. A narrative that seemed to say to her, _l_ _isten_ _, Mama, this is proof that our feelings are connected._

Sakura nearly loses herself in the music, and it almost surprises her when Sarada resolves the piece. Her daughter is now standing before her, suddenly shy. “What do you think, Mama?” 

She swiftly rises from her seat, and wraps her arms around Sarada. “That's my girl.” She kisses the top of her head. “It was brilliant.” 


	16. remembrance

The sun glowed warm behind his closed lids, and the breezes blew lightly over him. Everything seemed a dream, and he would almost have believed it was, if not for the solid fact of her beside him. Her fingers, intertwined with his—her breath, fanning gentle warmth on his skin. _This is no dream,_ he thought. Not when he could open his eyes and see her worn and lovely face, and read in her gaze the same steadfast affection as of old. _No, there is no dream that could compare to this._

His fond musing is broken by a timid inquiry. “Sasuke-kun.” She falters on his name. “ _After…_ do you think we will remember?”

“Ah.” He breathes out, pauses in thought. The tenderest sorrow closes in around his heart as he considers what she is asking. She had not been in the moment, like he was—Sakura was looking _beyond,_ trying to glimpse at that which comes after this, the twilight of their lives.

Their love has burned bright all these years, the guiding beacon to all their wanderings. Would death finally quench that soaring flame?

“I will remember you.” His voice is even, but his eyes as they meet hers shine with the utmost conviction. “I could never forget.” Lips descend on her forehead, gentle, and she feels as if she has been branded. Sakura’s eyes fill with tears.

“Remembrance… I’m sure that’s what heaven is, if there is one,” he tells her, finally smiling. He reaches out to swipe away her tears, caressing first one cheek and then the other. And then he draws close, and brings their lips together. His touch is fervent, and she hears what he is saying without words.

“Thank you,” she sighs into his chest. The words are full. “Thank you, my love.”


	17. hand in hand

He has known it for a while—but it was knowledge without words, something that had taken root in his heart and flowered speechlessly through his veins.

Sakura beams at him, her face haloed by the last golden rays of the setting sun. As she takes him by the hand, the feelings weave themselves into words. 

_He loves her._

And the world does not change: still, the sea breathes its salty tang into the breeze, and the gulls raise their discordant calls. Day fades into evening, as it always has. As it always will.

But with his hand in hers, he feels as if the world has fully taken him in. He is no wanderer—not anymore. Because right there, where he stands with her, he finally finds it. 

Home.


End file.
